Long Skittish Poems
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Just a stray
Rejected, unloved
Just a stray
Unwanted
Abandoned, lonely outcast
Seeking a safe place
She wanders
House to house, hoping
Tired, hungry
Cautious, too
Looking for someone who cares
Looking for a friend
Pretty cat
Lovely tortoiseshell
Beautiful
Eyes of green
Come kitty, kitty and eat
Don't you be afraid
Home at last
Grateful, yet skittish
Suspicious
Outside cat
With an inside family
Wandering no more
12/15/2012
Written about a stray cat that adopted us a few years back.
Still won't let us get too close, but she knows when dinner time is,
and always shows up. She never wanders far from our house.
While whispers shush on sheltered shores, as soon the cockcrow quakes,
the seas descry a skittish sky, sense summer zephyrs wake –
roused passions neath the sunrise pulse, the whitecaps throb and ache.
Along the crests crawl shallow shades the soaring sun effaces
and rains in streams enhance the dreams that fantasy embraces
while ocean sprays of yesterdays reveal forsaken faces.
The midday sun has slowed its run, a shrinking puddle steams,
between the knells of shattered shells drift soaring seagulls’ screams –
the beauty wends but never ends, or so it surely seems.
At dusk a ruddy disk descends, the skyline's furnace burns
and neath the swells where Neptune dwells, an undercurrent churns –
a seahorse hides and seaweed bides until the tempest turns.
While twilight hosts the winds with ghosts of barbed electric spangles,
a mermaid braves the crashing waves adorned with starfish bangles –
her spirit yearns in twists and turns entwined in rockweed tangles.
As seven stranded seamen scan the dimple-dappled moon,
a brace of surly Sirens serenade a lonely loon –
the breakers pound and sometimes sound a melancholy tune.
Soon gales ignite the briny night and rip the skies askew
with zigzag teeth flashed deep beneath a blazing bolt tattoo –
storms, spent, subside in ebbing tides, then all begins anew.
What activates my reflex arc
And causes me to shiver?
Which stimuli come into play
To set my nerves aquiver?
At home alone at dead of night
A creak will make me skittish.
My lower lip begins to drop
In fashion quite un-British! *
And should I inadvertently
Whilst in the garden walking,
Be tickled by a spider's web
The shock will leave me balking.
Don't mention snakes and darting bats
Obnoxious smells and vermin,
Or scraping sound as chalk meets board,
For all will leave me squirming.
In other matters I am bold;
No lily-livered chicken.
But when sheer instinct rules the roost
It leaves my senses stricken.
* in contrast to the traditional British 'stiff upper lip'
08.06.19
'What makes you flinch poetry contest'
Sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Hank had cowboyed and rodeoed fer nigh on forty years,
Ridin' in sleet, rain and snow a-herdin' cantankerous steers.
His hide was tough as leather and his legs was slightly bowed,
But brandin' dogies and fixin' fences was all he ever knowed!
His gut was made of iron from a diet of taters, beans and bacon.
Many times he was throwed from his hoss but his will remained unshaken.
He'd been bit by rattlesnakes and scarred from many barroom brawls,
And kicked by many a skittish bronc while muckin' out their stalls!
When tryin' to halt stampedes, Hank was often gravely gored,
And was hoarse from yellin' and cussin' at that riotous horde.
When shoein' hosses they often left an imprint on his chest,
Where flyin' hoofs landed leavin' him angry and depressed!
He didn't git rich and couldn't hoard money fer a rainy day;
Not much chance of accumulatin' such on a cowpokes meager pay.
His bed was usually 'neath the stars with his saddle fer a pillow,
Sharin' space with his old dog Spike and an occasional armadillo!
One day he up and told the boss, "I've had my fill of a cowboy's life.
I'm a-quittin' as of now. My old bones is weary from all this strife.
I'm saddle sore and tired of bunkhouse livin' and all yer stingin' slurs.
You kin take this job and shove it 'cause I'm a-hangin' up my spurs!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Well now, isn’t that just dandy?!
Isn’t this some fun?!
Another Christmas cancelled.
Another party undone.
I’m double vaxed and boosted.
Short on TP, but not of stress.
I stay masked and mostly distant,
Amidst a supply chain mess.
I’m stocked up on beer, wine, and whiskey.
My cupboards are filled with canned food.
I’m blessed with enough marijuana
To keep up a good attitude.
My attention’s too skittish for Netflix.
I'm binge-watching YouTube instead.
I like the ones on power tools, and music.
My taste in p*rn is better left unsaid.
I visit Twitter, Facebook, and TikTok,
Snapchat, LinkedIn, and Zoom.
I greet strangers in the metaverse
From the depths of my living room.
I’ve done hundreds of crossword puzzles.
Built many scale model planes.
I can take a day and kill it,
Then neatly inter the remains.
And when there’s nothing, absolutely nothing left to do,
I go back to the second day of first grade
With eight Crayola crayons in a little cardboard box.
Every color matters when there’s artwork to be made.
The overhasty mind gets cluttered
often losing concentration,
not doing chores or things
rationally, but overloading
itself with unneccesary thinking;
it happens to me sometime,
leaving the car key inside the ignation!
Imagine my grumpy mood...
I get very skittish and to get that out,
it'll take a sleight of hand!
Once I made a delicious
barbacue chicken,
and left it on the grill
on low heat, because I liked it
well-done; I went back
and my yummy bird was gone...
the hungry sky-larks
snatched it away,
ate everything, but left
the bloody bones!
Absent-minded guy,
how can you slacken
on attending the most important things?
Sometimes you slip and shuffling
there's a chance you'll lose control...
that's when trouble comes in!
When was the last time
you scrambled off a ladder,
and landed into the coldest water of a pool?
All the kids watching...surely thought it was cool!
Another way of saving lots of money
is not excessive frugality,
absent-minded guy!
Get rid of the parsimony
and allow yourself to spend it wisely,
not forgetting to check the balance
in your checkbook...before going
on a shopping-spree!
Absent-minded guy,
be attentive and be aware of forgetfulness!
Sunlit rays gild a filigree Moon;
while intensifying Luna's glow.
And She shimmers, like a gold doubloon;
in a creek, where rippled waters flow.
She adopts a halo over time:
highlighting Her celestial ascent.
And like a Goddess, She starts Her climb;
a starlet in this gala event.
An ebony curtain pierced by stars
ushers in the beauty of the Night.
And a red blush tints the planet Mars;
as Venus reveals Her virgin light.
Birds surrender the night skies to bats
playing hide and seek with skittish moths.
And along with silken welcome mats,
spiders spin intricate tablecloths.
Darkness swallows the remnants of Day,
imposing shadows upon the Night.
And color silently fades away;
amidst the last vestiges of light.
A brindled mountain capped with snow,
hosts paradise in its shadow.
Where moss clings to the virgin rock
on ancient roosts where seabirds flock.
White water teaches springs to sing
with that tinkling pitch bubbles bring.
As creeks chuckle a gurgling sound:
laughing out loud, where rocks abound.
Gushing rivulets, spray, and twist,
morphing into a sparkling mist.
And flowers, like living jewels,
are mirrored in reflecting pools.
Light and dark play with skittish leaves,
chasing applause; each breeze receives.
While subtle odors scent the air
with a fragrance, beyond compare.
In this secluded spot on Earth,
Serenity reveals its worth.
For only Nature resides here:
tranquil, with no humans to fear.
I'm pining, they're whining
I want to announce,
Biden is flailing, Democrats whaling,
Give me the nod and watch me just pounce.
Timing’s the key, I know they want me,
But all my square minders
Scratching their head, tossing in bed,
Remind me to follow the words of our founders.
Fighting the British with forces quite skittish,
Washington uttered these very wise words:
“Your enemy's rotten, their gains are Ill-gotten,
They'll flutter and flail like little lost birds”.
With that thought imbedded, I shan't be
Hard-headed
To follow the lead of a man I adore,
With Joe on the ropes, dashing all hopes,
More now than ever it's of me they want more.
I was moving down an access trail
in my favorite Pennsylvania game land,
heading towards and open meadow,
near which I’d set up a tree stand.
Then came a rustling from some bushes thick,
a buck shot out at lightning speed,
I reached for my gun, but he was gone,
through dense forest the buck did flee.
I was stunned by this strange happening,
for a buck to have gotten so near
to a human walking in plain sight,
it should have been skittish, hiding in fear.
Then exploding from that same thick brush,
came a petite and seething form,
she fixed a pair or rabid eyes on me,
shook once with anger, and then she roared:
“You stupid fool! I had that awesome deer,
all lined up for the kill in my sights!
If it weren’t for the sound of your footsteps,
I would have had that buck dead-to-rights!”
I instinctively bristled at her sharp tone,
snapped,”Forgive me for walking a public trail.
Maybe if you had a stand, weren’t mucking ’round,
you would have seen more than that deer’s trail.”
She roared,”And maybe if you had half a brain,
you’d be able to pick out my ground blind!
Took me days to find their bedding space,
now all of that is just wasted time!”
I yelled,”If you really do have a blind there,
I would have to stay that I was impressed.
But I’m so damn mad I wouldn’t say so,
even if it’s camouflaged with the best!”
She screamed,”And I’m so pissed, I won’t say ‘thank you,’
even though I worked for this so very hard.
How could I accept a compliment
from a fool who sends deer running far?
“And I certainly couldn’t appreciate
That pristine rifle, that cowboy gun,
owned by some rookie who makes too much noise,
who scotches up my shot and hunt!”
I laughed. “And I clearly can’t ogle at
the ancient bolt-action you’ve got there!”
She said,”And I would never tell a greenhorn
that my gramps once used it to hunt bear!”...
CONCLUDES IN PART II